Close to Heaven

Lie

3 days later

Jimin was gone. The day I had come to the hospital and brought him a third bouquet of flowers, the room was bare of any sign of his existence. I froze, not making a move. I wanted it so badly to be a dream. 

My flowers fell to the floor as I pinched myself repeatedly, trying to wake up from the nightmare. Hearing footsteps behind me, I turned around facing Yoongi. He stood nervously, his hands in his pockets. 

"Where is he?" I asked quietly. I waited to hear the two words that would break my world in two. He's dead. I waited patiently for the words to be spoken in Yoongi's voice instead of my mind. They did not come. 

"His parents. They wanted him home when he was healing." Yoongi explained, a hand moving to the back of his neck anxiously. He scratched his scalp and looked at me, waiting for a response. First came a wave of relief. 

He wasn't dead. Those words brought me inexplicable joy that was soon dampened by the reality of the situation. He was with his parents. I remembered him saying his parents lived in Busan once. He was in Busan. "When will he be back?" I whispered. "I don't know," Yoongi admitted. I felt numb. 

For some strange reason, the need to see him at this particular time was fierce. The compelling want to see his face overpowered my brain. I didn't want anything else besides him. The need for his presence dug it's way deep into my brain and numbed my outer emotions. Saying goodbye to Yoongi quietly, I returned home and began to run the water into the tub for a bath.

One day later

Waking up was no longer the pleasure it had been. There was a fleeting moment when I was whole again but it evaporates faster than the summer rain off the burnt earth. Then my lids that were drooping and leaden with sleep snapped open as if woken by a loud noise. 

Upon waking, my hands were in front of my face, my eyes staring at the bare skin of my wrists. As my eyes adjusted to the bright, morning light, I focused on the pale skin of my wrists. It wasn't smooth. 

The scars were like washed out fishbones, silver-white blemishes along my arm. Staring at them, I felt unreal. Like everything up until now had been fake. I wasn't surprised at the scars, yet I don't remember making them. 

Two of them were bright pink. They looked the freshest. A sick feeling in my stomach arose as I stared at the scars. The feeling spread to my chest, my neck, and then my head. I knew this feeling. The dizzying, oppressing feeling. Another vision was approaching. I closed my eyes and awaited the memory.

Laying in the white bed, I stared at my arm. These gashes were fresh, just beginning to scab over. These ones had been done with a pocket knife I found in a neighboring members room. It was hidden underneath their bed. I didn't hesitate in taking it. After pulling so many stunts, I would have though I would be sent to a different facility. One for mental patients. Yesterday, though, I heard one of the men talking about me. My name was repeatedly being used in the conversation. He spoke of not being allowed to send me to a different facility because of my cancer. Being in hospice meant I would be gone soon enough anyway. Coming back to the cuts in my arm, I smiled and reached for the pocket knife again.

Coming out of the flashback, I realized something was different. This time, my head hurt more. This time, the memory lingered in my head clearly. All of them did. All of the flashbacks were laying in my head, there for easy access if I ever would ask. I could see every memory that had come to me, and even those that hadn't before. 

Most of them were in a room that I recognized. The rest were in the house I lived in now. My numb demeanor was wearing off. Panic was setting in. The memories were suicidal, things I don't remember doing. Yet they were my thoughts. Looking at my scarred wrist once again, a fresh onslaught of memories filled my mind. Memories of hating myself, hating my cancer, hating my body, hating being alive. And that was when it all snapped.

I was not who Jimin though I was. I was not who Jae Eun thought I was. I was not who I thought I was. The memories were all mine. They were all my experiences that I didn't want to admit to others. I couldn't admit to myself who I was. The scars explained themselves. 

Two nights ago, I had sat in the bathtub with a knife from the kitchen.

Saying goodbye to Yoongi quietly, I returned home and began to run the water into the tub for a bath.

The uneaten hotdog at the zoo.

As we throw away our trash, Jae Eun takes my uneaten, foil wrapped hot dog and places it in her purse. "For later," she whispers, and winks.

The pain in my stomach in the ambulance.

The pit of my stomach was tingling, like there was something very wrong with the situation.

Every mentality from the hospice center was coming back to me, and every mentality from afterwards was too. I had lied to myself about everything. Every time I had done something suicidal, I had purposely made myself forget it all. Laying in my bed, I did nothing. How could I fix this? 

How could I ever fix something like this? I didn't even know who I was anymore. Worst of all, Jimin wasn't here. Hospice had a been the atmosphere that had kickstarted the worst of my problems. 

Once Jimin had arrived though, they had gotten better. The self harm and episodes had almost completely disappeared when he was with me in hospice. Once I had come back home, the problems had lessened even more because I was seeing Jimin almost every day. Now that he was gone, I didn't know how I was going to cope. Maybe I just won't, I deadpanned as I closed my eyes and tried to fall back asleep numbly.

"Mi Sun," You need to get up, you've been sleeping all day. Jae Eun stood before me, my eyes slowly adjusting to her silhouette against the bright window. I closed my eyes again. It was too much sun. 

Covering my head with the blankets, I said nothing. "Mi Sun," she cried, desperately trying to pull the blankets off of me. "Stop," I shouted. She did, the shock at my loud voice apparent in her face. "Stop it," I mumbled, and dragged the covers from her now motionless hands and covered my face again. She stood there for a few more minutes before I heard her footsteps leave slowly and the door close. 

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So....This chapter has some pretty heavy stuff. If you don't understand, please let me know but basically, Mi Sun has lied to herself this entire time about her mental well being. Because this book is told from her point of view and her mindset, you don't know about her problems until she does. ANYWAY, enjoy! Don't forget to like and comment <3